


After the Beep (5 times Jack’s mom got voicemail messages +1 time she answered the phone)

by slightly_ajar



Series: Stable AU [8]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Stable AU, dad!Jack, father/son relationship, teen!Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: Chapter 1 is set after Stablehands + Stable Homes and before the first chapter of Violetvaira’s 5 times Mac and Jack Couldn’t Sleep (+ 1 Time They Couldn’t Stay Awake).  Jack calls his mom after the adoption is finalised.Chapter 2 is set after Ground Rules.  Jack thinks about right, wrong and rules.Chapter 3 is set after Fire + Ice + Truth.   Jack reflects on his actions after he saw the bruises left by Mac’s encounter with Donnie.Chapter 4 is set during Mono a Mono.  Jack thinks that Mac might enjoy his mom's chicken soup.Chapter 5 is set between the first and second chapter of New Names and Heartbeats.  Mac is in the hospital waiting for Jack to wake up after his accident.Chapter 6 is set after New Names and Heartbeats and the 3rd chapter of 5 times Mac and Jack Couldn’t Sleep (+ 1 Time They Couldn’t Stay Awake). Jack calls his mom to discuss paperwork, among other things.set in dickgrysvn's Stablehands + Stable Homes AU and alongside violetvaria’s Stable AU
Series: Stable AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491458
Comments: 92
Kudos: 42
Collections: Stable_AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As Violetvaria has already mentioned in her wonderful [On the Way Down (I Held on to You)](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Stable_AU/works/22109611) today is the Stable-versary. I finished this collection of stories before Christmas and left them to 'settle' as I call it so today felt like a good time to start posting them.
> 
> Some of these chapters are set after stories in this verse but some are set during them like missing scenes. 
> 
> Enormous huggles to dickgrysvn's for being so generous with the AU she created and violetvaria’s for letting me join in.

“Hey, Momma!!!” 

Jack burst into his house, throwing the door wide like he was about to launch into a song or announce that Gondor was calling for aid. His phone was held up to his ear and he was speaking into the receiver with a huge grin on his face. Mac followed behind, amusement and bemusement lighting his expression. 

“We've been to the court house and it’s official, you're a grandma again!” Jack threw an arm around Mac, drawing him close. “It’s a boy,” he grinned down at Mac, “he’s a little bigger and heavier than your other grandkids were when they arrived but he’s here and he’s ours.” 

Jack squeezed Mac’s shoulders. He felt buoyant. Ecstatic. Bright and light like Christmas Day, the Fourth of July and meeting Diane had been rolled together and tied in a bow. He felt like the Grinch must have done when his heart grew three sizes, except Jack was sure his own heart was bigger even than that. It was, oh, he eyed Mac as he shrugged his suit jacket off, about the size of a 5 foot seven-ish kid with blond hair and a shy smile, someone who was still a little too thin but was growing healthier each day. His son. 

Mac was officially his son. 

Jack hadn’t known how anxious he’d been about something happening to stop the adoption until he’d signed the paperwork that certified it. James could have changed his mind. He could have loudly caused problems at the courthouse. Jack had seen tension in Mac’s face as they’d left the house that morning and wondered if he was feeling the same. But it had all gone without a hitch. The judge had smiled at them when they’d completed everything, leaned forwards and told them with a hushed tone and a wink that finalising adoptions was his favourite part of the job. 

“Do you want to leave a message too?” Jack held out his phone in Mac’s direction. Jack had told his mom - Mac’s new grandmother - all about Mac but he hadn’t actually spoken to her before. “She’d love to hear from you, she asks about you whenever we talk. She is legally your Nana now, that’s what my sister’s girls call her, Nana or Nana Bea.” Jack waggled the phone from side to side. “You wanna say hi, right?” 

Jack didn’t expect Mac to look at the phone as if he was being offered a live snake but there the daunted expression was, clear and unmistakable. 

“Son?” 

“Jack, I um,” Mac stammered, managing to back off without actually taking a step away, “it’s just that...” his gaze left the device in Jack’s hand and flicked up to meet Jack’s, his eyes wide. 

“Are you not sure what to say?” Jack asked, puzzled

“I...” Mac tensed, shoulders raised, curling in on himself. 

“Mac?” 

Mac gestured with unsteady, uncomfortable jerks, opening his mouth but not producing words. 

“Hold that thought, Ma,” Jack said to his mother’s voicemail, “we’re having a few technical issues here, I’ll call you back.” He ended the call and laid his phone onto the coffee table. Then he loosened his tie and dropped with a considered lack of concern onto the sofa. He knew that look, that anxious, doubting look that took over Mac when he was uncertain or afraid. Jack didn’t always know what caused that reaction, he and Mac were still discovering how to communicate with each other and learning each other’s idiosyncrasies. Jack was beginning to understand that Mac found some things he would never have considered problems difficult and frightening, like how he’d been afraid to take food from their kitchen without express permission when he’d first moved in. Jack saw a new fear in Mac and recognised that he’d have to talk Mac into sharing his worries. 

“You seem a little hesitant to talk to my mom, do you think you can tell me why?” He leaned backwards, adopting a casual pose to show Mac he wasn’t going to insist or demand but was simply relaxed and curious. 

Mac shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. He swallowed hard, seemingly making a decision, and slowly sat to perch on the edge of a cushion at the other end of the sofa, his laced hands resting primly in his lap. He eyed Jack’s phone as if he was afraid it would jump up and bite him. 

“I knew that you adopting me would make you my dad but I hadn’t really thought about it making your mom my grandmother,” he looked over at Jack from the corner of his eyes. “Do you think she’ll mind?” 

“Mind?” Jack called, his expression creasing up in bewilderment. “She’s thrilled! She’s been talking about me becoming a father and giving her more grandkids for years.” 

“Yeah,” Mac’s head jerked up reflexively, “but she meant you having your own kids.” 

“You are my own kid! Officially, legally, morally and paperworkly! Do you remember the little outing we went on this morning to the big building where the man in the robes stamped some forms?” Jack leaned towards Mac resting his elbows on his knees, “Son, you are mine. I’m yours. And that includes you being part of the same family as all the crazies I share DNA with. Wait until I tell you about Cousin George, I have some wild stories about him.” 

“But,” Mac squirmed, “they’re related to you, by blood. I’m not, it’s not the same, I’m -” he let out a frustrated breath, looking off into the mid-distance and shaking his head in tight, tiny jerks. “I’m just...” he lifted up his hands and let them fall heavily into his lap, “I’m not anything really and...” 

“You’re not anything?” Jack practically screeched. He snapped his jaw shut to cut off the rest of his words and scooted nearer to Mac. He laid a hand on his back. “Not anything is the polar opposite of what you are. Is that what this is about, bud? You’re worried about not being related to the rest of my family by blood?” 

Mac dropped his head. 

“Do you think that because you’re not mine biologically my Momma won’t like you?” Jack asked gently. 

“She wants you to have kids but what if when she says that she means you should have your own kids? “ Mac muttered down to his fidgeting hands. “You know, carrying on the family line? She probably didn’t mean taking in some kid who just showed up one day and didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

“You are my own kid.” 

“I know, but…” A helpless shrug

“My youngest niece pooped while she was being born.” Jack said in his storytelling voice. Partly because he knew it would get the kid’s attention and partly because the anecdote would be a better way of getting his point across and soothing Mac’s fears than any amount of reassuring words would. 

Mac leaned back so he could look up into Jack’s face in confusion and no small amount of disgust. 

“Bear with me, kiddo I’m going somewhere with this. My niece pooped on the way out so when she arrived she was covered in the stuff that little ones usually keep in their diapers. I met her for the first time an hour or two after she was born and they don’t wash babies straight away like they used to so she was still marinated in stinky unpleasantness. She was wrapped up in a blanket and had a stripy little hat on the first time I held her but she still had poop in her hair, and despite all that,” Jack cleared his throat against the rough burr that had formed there, “despite all that I still thought that she was the most beautiful baby in the whole world.” 

She had been. Jack had been awed and humbled by how beautiful the tiny girl in his arms was and by how much he loved her. He’d absolutely loved her. 

Mac watched Jack attentively, his eyebrows rising slowly as a prompt for him to carry on with his story. 

“My point is this: that is one of my favourite things about people - that they have the capacity to love like that. My niece was a brand new member of my family and I just loved her, that’s incredible isn’t it? So it doesn’t matter how you arrived, and thankfully it was a lot less gruesome than the way little Jasmine did, you are one of us and my family will love you.” 

Mac gave Jack a tiny smile, just a twitch of the side of his mouth really, but it was a smile, and he rested his head against Jack’s shoulder. 

“My mom has a heart as big as all outdoors, she’s cared about you from the first time I told her about the skinny kid that had started working at the stable. She can’t wait for the two of you to meet so she can fuss over you like a broody chicken. Momma has been asking for a picture of you so she can show all her friends in her book club what her new grandbaby looks like.” 

“Oh.” Mac said simply. Surprised but pleased. 

“She’s probably been baking chocolate filled goodies to send you. She likes to send care packages - I was the envy of my unit in Afghanistan because of the stuff she used to mail to me. She asked what your favourite cakes and cookies were the last time we spoke.” 

“Oh,” Mac said again, “that’s…nice.” 

“She’s a nice lady. I mean, she’s sassy and fierce with a wicked sense of humour and a heavy hand when it comes to putting rum in the Christmas punch but she’s nice too. Not one member of my family will say you aren’t welcome. And if anyone did dare to make the slightest hint that you don’t belong - not that anyone would - my mom would be all over them like a hungry junkyard dog. No one messes with Bea Dalton.” 

They rested against each other in silence. Mac taking in what Jack had told him and Jack enjoying the solid reality of his son in his arms. His son. Biology didn’t matter. DNA and blood lines didn’t matter. The kid he was holding was his son. That was that. 

“So, kiddo, do you think you’d like to say hi to your new grandma?” Jack asked, shrugging towards his phone. “It’s okay if you don’t.” 

“Yeah,” Mac nodded, his hair scuffed up and down against Jack’s shoulder at the movement, ruining the neater than usual style he’d combed it into for the visit to the court house. “I-I think I would.” 

Jack picked up his phone and dialled his mom’s number, when the call went through to voicemail he passed the device over to his son. 

“Hello Nana, it’s Mac.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set directly after Violetvaria's [Ground Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594054)

Mac peered into his school back pack. 

“Have you got your pens?” Jack asked. 

“Yes.” Mac answered. 

“Pencils?” 

“Yes.” 

“Lunch?” 

“Yes.” 

“Homework?” 

“Yep.” 

“Apple for the teacher?” 

Mac gave Jack a wonky smile. “Has anyone ever actually given an apple to a teacher?” 

“I left a whoopee cushion on my teacher’s chair when I was seven but that probably doesn’t count.” 

“No,” Mac wrinkled his nose, “I don’t think it does.” 

“Probably not,” Jack hummed. “Whoopee cushions aren’t crunchy and they don’t have vitamins in them but they are funnier than apples.” Jack let himself drift into the memory. When Mrs Martin had spotted his joke shop purchase on her chair she’d rolled her eyes, embraced the moment and dropped her full weight onto it letting a resounding _‘pppppppllllfffffffffttttttt’_ rip through her classroom. It was the most hilarious thing that had ever happened to Jack’s first grade self. He watched Mac pull his backpack onto his shoulders through nostalgia misted eyes. 

“You’ve got everything then?” 

“I have. I’ve got to go now or I’ll miss the bus. Bye Jack, I’ll see you later.” 

“Bye, son.” Jack called as Mac headed out of the kitchen. “Have a good day, love you.” 

Mac raised a hand in a farewell wave and stepped out into the morning in a whirl of blond hair and coltish, teenage boy gracelessness. 

As Jack watched through the window as his son walked towards the bus stop his thoughts drifted towards the conversation about ground rules they’d had the night before. He pulled his phone towards him and selected his mom’s number. 

“Mom,” he said after the voice mail’s beep, “how did you come up with rules for me and my sister? Did you and dad sit and discuss what we were and weren’t allowed to do, did you make them up as the need arose or is there a memo new moms and dads get when they take their babies home from the hospital? Cause sometimes I feel like there’s been a set of instructions other parents have been given that I’ve missed out on.” 

There were times that Jack saw other parents in stores, fast food restaurants and at the stable and wondered at the supposed ease and confidence with which they managed their children. 

“Every parent feels like they’re making it up from one moment to the next don’t they? That’s how it was for you and dad, right?” 

Jack walked as he talked, gathering together his own supplies for the day. His phone was in his hand so he collected his wallet, his keys, his reading glasses (those were picked up reluctantly, he was still loathed to admit his eyesight wasn’t what it had been) and put the sandwich he’d made, a packet of chips and one of the muffins his mom had sent in her last care package together on the kitchen counter for his lunch. He stared at the items. Had he forgotten anything...? 

“Mac’s social worker asked about my rules and I hadn’t thought about setting any because Mac’s such a good kid, but then last night Mac asked me if he has a curfew. I mean, I don’t know. Does he? I trust him but do I still give him one because all the other kids have one? I want him to know that I trust him, but I also want him to feel like he’s secure and knows where his boundaries are. Does that mean he hasn’t felt secure before because I haven’t laid down the rules?” Jack rubbed at the frown line forming between his eyebrows. “He hasn’t looked like he felt that way. But what does an unsafe feeling teenager look like?” 

Jack growled a sigh and started absentmindedly picking off pieces of his muffin and popping them in his mouth. 

Mac had spent a lot of years hiding how he was feeling and appearing to be fine when he most definitely wasn’t. Jack had missed a lot back then. He was still dealing with guilt and regret from that time. He felt like he might always be trying to resolve what he saw as his failings and settle the hard edged, cutting thoughts about the things he hadn’t done into a place of acceptance inside him. He felt them every now and then, those thoughts. Sometimes when he was with Mac and sometimes at completely mundane moments like when he was brushing his teeth the sharp corner of a memory of seeing sadness in Mac’s eyes or of sending him home from the stable with a cheery wave and no second thoughts would press against a tender place inside Jack and he felt like he could bleed. 

“We agreed to talk about it. We laid down a couple of ground rules and we’re going to discuss what the rest of the rules are on a case by case basis. I know that’s not how it usually works but,” Jack pulled of a chunk of muffin and took a bite, speaking around the cake in his mouth, “we're not your usual family unit. And that’s okay isn’t it?” Jack asked. He thought, chewing on another lump of muffin, that he didn’t know why he’d ended that statement with a question. It wasn’t something he was unsure of. “And that’s okay,” he amended. “I just remember knowing what was right and wrong when I was a kid, like I’d always known without being told. I suppose I’ve just assumed it’s like that for him.” 

Jack remembered conversations - and arguments - about curfews. He remembered his dad pulling him to one side when he and his friends became old enough to drive and telling him to never get in a car when the person driving it was drunk, even if he was the person driving. Especially if he was the person driving. There had been a conversation about respecting women. They deserved to be treated like ladies, his old man had told him. They had their dignity and autonomy and he didn’t ever get to think he was owed something from them. Jack lived by those codes and they were ideals he was planning on passing onto Mac. But he felt like he’d always known that the truth was sacrosanct, kindness was basic decency, 5am was too early to be up on Christmas morning and that Dalton’s supported the Dallas Cowboys. Mac knew those things didn’t he? Except for the part about the Dallas Cowboys - Jack was planning on working on that with him. 

“I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.” Jack said as he put the last of the muffin in his mouth. “I’ll have to be a stickler for the rule about honesty and see where we go from there. People do this stuff everyday don’t they? Other parents make it work, so I can too, right?” 

Jack looked down at his phone to check the time, he really needed to leave for the stable, hungry horses would be waiting, and huffed when he saw the call duration display next to it. He’d spent all that time talking and was no closer to answering his questions. Maybe he should get a parenting book from the library, or follow one of those Mommy Blogs. Maybe he could start one – Five Ways Horses are Easier than Teenagers. He snorted. That was a terrible idea. 

“Right then, I have things to do and horses to feed. I hope everyone is doing okay and I’ll speak to you soon. Love you.” 

Jack ended the call and looked down with surprise at the pile of crumbs sitting where a muffin had been. He’d eaten the whole thing? He really needed to ask his mom to send some more of them in her next parcel. He gathered up everything he needed – phone, wallet, glasses, lunch, including a new muffin - and headed for the door. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set just after [Fire + Ice + Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804858/chapters/46890940) and possibly won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read that story first.

Jack hauled his shopping bags through the door of his truck and dumped them in the passenger seat. The straining carriers landed on the leather with a heavy thud and one of them teetered dangerously, threatening to tumble off the edge and spill root vegetables and Cheese Whizz into the foot well. 

He had possibly gone a bit overboard with the grocery shopping. 

Mac was a growing boy - he needed sustenance - but yeah okay, maybe they did already have plenty of pizzas and lasagnes in the freezer at home. And maybe he didn’t need to buy a packet of every single variety of chocolate chip cookie but Mac liked them and Jack was on a ‘Surround Mac With Things He Likes’ initiative, even more than usual, because, well... 

Jack climbed into his driver’s seat and looked out at the parking lot of the supermarket. He’d arrived at a quiet time of day and only a few of the parking spaces were in use. The store had been pleasingly empty with Jack's fellow shoppers sparsely spread throughout the aisles, meaning he’d been able to navigate through the groceries without having to reach past ditherers in the fresh food department or excuse his way through a cluster of friends who’d bumped into each other and decided to chat in the middle of the bread section. It had been refreshing but unwelcome since the calm and space had given him time to think. He kept remembering the way the soft fabric of Mac’s shirt had gathered in his hands as he’d grasped it in his fists and the horrified, terrified look Mac had given him as he’d scrambled backwards to get as far away from him as he could. 

Guilt and shame twisted sickeningly in Jack’s gut, arching inside him like a living thing, like something made of blades and fire writhing inside his chest. 

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found his mom’s number, the white digits blurring through the tears scalding his eyes. He hit the green call button and listened as an impersonal recorded voice told him that the person he’d called was not available at that time and advised him to leave a message after the tone. 

“Did you ever get it wrong?” Jack blurted after the electronic beep. “When we were little, did you ever do something that was really wrong? I’m not talking about pitching your response a little wide of the mark or picking the wrong thing to say no to then having to stand your ground even though it’s not worth the fight. I mean doing something deeply, horribly wrong.” 

Jack rubbed the back of his free hand over his eyes while he tried to frame his next thought. “I don’t remember you or dad doing anything really bad so that means that either you didn’t or you did but I’ve forgotten about it. I’d prefer what’s behind door number two right now, because that would mean kids forget even the really terrible mistakes. He has enough bad memories without me adding to them when I’m supposed to be the one keeping him safe.” 

One of the bags on the seat next to him started to fall and Jack pushed it back in place with an impatient shove. 

“I scared him, mom,” Jack continued, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the world. “I wanted to be the exact opposite of his biological father and I acted the way James used to. I didn’t raise my hand to him but I made him think that I might. I was -” Jack let out a growl of frustration at his disjointed rambling. “There’s this kid at Mac’s school, Donnie,” he said in way of explanation, “He’s a bully, one of those big, dumb, entitled kids who thinks other people are there for his amusement. Mac got into a fight with him defending one of his friends. They both got into trouble but Donnie’s punishment was worse and when he came back to school the other day he singled Mac out and took a pop at him. It was over pretty quickly apparently but he left bruises on Mac’s arm. I saw them yesterday and I lost it. I couldn’t bear the sight of those marks on him.” Behind his eyes Jack saw the purple and blue bruises on Mac’s skin that had clearly been left by a spiteful hand intending to hurt. “He had so many bruises in the past that I hadn’t protected him from and the new ones felt like a sign of failure, like a giant, floodlit billboard screaming ‘he’s hurt, you let him down again, you don’t deserve this boy in your life’. And I lost control. I yelled at him. Can you believe that?” Jack remembered grabbing Mac, shouting ‘I’m supposed to be taking care of you!’ and felt nauseated with self-disgust. “Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? I was angry that I wasn’t there to defend him so I yelled at him.” Jack let out a bitter scoff of laughter. 

Outside the truck shoppers drifted in and out of the store with empty shopping trollies and loaded bags. A bored teenager in the supermarket’s ugly red and yellow uniform was gathering up abandoned carts and a mother and toddler walked past Jack, oblivious to him, swinging their joined hands and singing Five Little Ducks. Jack suddenly felt trapped and isolated in his car, alone with his disgust, his regret and his damning one way conversation. 

“I love him and I thought that would be enough to take care of him but maybe it’s not.” Jack said as he watched the mother carefully strap her little boy into his car seat. “Maybe it’s one of those things where paths that lead in two different directions end up going to the same place, like one of those circle doohickeys that go round and round for infinity and end up back where they started, a Morpheus strip or whatever they’re called. By loving him too much I've ended up doing the same thing his biological father did. James didn't care about Mac and was neglectful and abusive and by loving him too much I’ve been selfish and controlling.” 

Jack tipped his head back and thudded it against the seat with a padded thump. 

“Can you love someone too much?” he asked, staring up at the roof of his truck. “I wouldn’t have thought you could. You’re supposed to love your kids unconditionally and that means without limits doesn’t it? I’d do anything for that boy and I hope he knows that.” After Jack’s apology Mac had hugged him. He hadn’t seemed scared anymore and Jack had read genuine forgiveness in the way Mac held him. They’d abandoned the work they’d been doing and gone home and Mac had stayed close to him for the rest of the day, not looking disappointed or angry or any of the other ways he’d been entitled to feel after Jack’s actions. They’d had a normal evening together, or as normal as Jack could make it while he felt brittle and anxious. If Mac had noticed he hadn’t said anything. “I think he knows that.” 

Jack swapped his phone into his empty fist to hold it against his other ear, stretching out his fingers to ease the cramp that gripping it tightly caused his hand. 

“Mom, how do I stop myself doing it again? I couldn’t breathe when I saw that he had been hurt and I’m not going to be able to wrap him in cotton wool for his whole life so he’s bound to be hurt again. How do parents do it?” 

Jack had been in the army, he’d travelled to conflicts and war zones and he couldn’t begin to imagine how his parents had coped with the knowledge that he was in danger. He had to fight the urge to take Mac’s hand when they crossed the street together.

“How do I love him and raise him and protect him and let him be free? He’ll be at college soon; how am I ever going to be able to let him go?” 

The groceries beside him began their inexorable journey towards the floor again and Jack thwacked at the bags with his fist, hurting his hand when it caught the edge of a box of cereal. He couldn’t sit there all day, hiding and spiralling and achieving nothing. He felt stunned with shock and blame but the rest of the world, and all his groceries, were still moving. 

“I should go, there’s ice cream defrosting next to me and the milk is going to get warm. I don’t know if you have an answer to any of these questions, I don’t know if anyone does. Ignore me, it’ll be fine. Or-” Jack gave a rueful shake of his head. When he’d been little he’d believed his parents knew everything and could fix anything and even though he was an adult there was a small part of him that still believed that - why else would he have called his mom with impossible questions expecting advice? “Or call me back with all the answers and tell me exactly what to do. I’m sorry to leave you such a weird message, I just, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you. And dad.” Right then Jack would have given anything to talk to his father. Anything. His father had been the most grounded person Jack had ever known. He'd been connected to the earth like a tree with ancient, sprawling roots and Jack ached to be near that practical, calm presence. “I miss him more these days than I ever have. I wish he could’ve met Mac.” Jack smiled sadly, his dad and his son would have gotten along so well together. His dad would have loved Mac’s quick mind and bright smile and Mac could have gained so much from having the wisdom of the older man in his life. Jack wished he could have talked to his dad about being a father and how he could expect it to challenge and change him. “I love you, Mom, I'll talk to you soon.” 

Jack hung up and dropped his phone into one of the carrier bags next to him. He turned the key to start his truck then sat listening to the engine rumble. Mac would be home soon. He would need dinner, maybe a signature on a piece of school paperwork, and a hug. 

Maybe Jack would be the one who needed the hug. 

If he held his boy he would know that everything was going to be okay. 

If his boy held him that wouldn’t hurt either. 

Jack reversed out of his parking space, checked the road to make sure it was safe to pull out into the traffic and drove home. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during Violetvaira's [Mona a Mono](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128465/chapters/42861200) just before the start of the second chapter.

“Hey, Ma it’s Jack. Quick question, could you give me the recipe for the chicken soup you used to make whenever me and my sister were sick as kids?” Jack opened the door of a kitchen cupboard and stared inside. There was plenty of food in there but nothing that looked as soothing or as good at tempting the appetite of an invalid as his mom’s chicken soup. He remembered how when he’d been wrapped in blankets, snuffling, coughing and feeling sorry for himself, his mom bringing him a bowl of her soup with little star shaped pieces of toast floating on top always comforted him. 

Mac was sleeping. Again. Last time Jack had looked in on his son he’d been curled under his duvet absolutely out for the count. Jack had checked Mac’s temperature earlier that day, finding he still had a fever, and now was wandering around the house at a loose end trying to fill the time before he needed to leave to head to the stable. “Mac’s come down with something – the flu probably - he’s got a fever, a sore throat and he’s slept most of the last couple of days away and I’m trying to find something to get him to eat, he’s barely touched what I've made for him so far and that kid can’t afford to lose any weight.” 

Mac looked much healthier than he had when he’d first moved in with Jack. His improved diet and sleep patterns were clear in his face and in how his body had filled out. He didn’t have such a thin, brittle mien anymore. The sight of the slender, fragile wrists that had peeked out of his shirt sleeves used to make Jack’s heart ache. 

“Actually, thinking about it,” Jack moved a couple of tins around in the cupboard, looking hard at the labels, a memory bubbling up from the back of his mind, “Cousin George once told me that the soup you gave us was store bought and you just used to put extra herbs and croutons in and call it Momma’s Own Special recipe, is that true?” 

At the time Jack had dismissed that statement out of hand. It wasn’t possible. His momma’s warming, health restoring, oh so comforting soup couldn’t have come from a can. It had to have been hand made with love by his mom standing at a stove stirring the contents of a large saucepan with a wooden spoon, steam and good smells swirling in the air, like a good witch or a fairy godmother. But now, as an adult and a parent, Jack was beginning to believe that didn’t have to be how it was. 

“It’s okay if that’s the truth. I get it. I’m starting to think that at least sixty eight percent of parenting is made up of how you deliver what you’re doing. The trainer who took the first aid course I had to do when I was adopting Mac talked about ‘putting on the face’ and how a lot of treating a hurt child was being all, ‘this is fine, I’ve got you, I’m completely in control’ even though someone’s bleeding, there’s broken glass all over the floor and you’re panicking more than a little on the inside. It’s like the soup you gave me made me feel better because you told me you’d made it for me and it would make me feel better.” 

Jack closed the cupboard door thinking about how that sentence sounded like it didn’t make any sense but it actually did, and walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and pushed the door of Mac’s room open to peep inside. 

“Caring for him doesn’t mean making him chicken soup from scratch – caring for him just means doing things to show him that I care for him.” Jack suspected Mac would have told him that what he’d just said didn’t work grammatically-wise, and maybe he’d be right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Mac would probably have also told him that he’d made the word ‘grammatically-wise’ up but Jack would have argued that all words are made up. 

Mac sighed and shifted restlessly in his bed, his movements rearranged the peaks and valleys the blanket covering him had formed. Jack watched his sleeping son and was filled with the warm, sharp ache that always twisted in his chest when he thought of Mac. The ache hurt in a way that couldn’t be described as pain, it was raw, deep and intensely real, personal and universal and he didn’t really have a name for it but it was generally described as love. 

“He still has nightmares,” Jack found himself telling his mom as Mac settled into his new position. “I check on him before I go to bed and sometimes when I go into his room I can tell he’s having a bad dream. He talks in his sleep, soft little words that I can’t always make out but they sound like he’s,” Jack paused, searching for the right word to describe the distressed, distressing sounds his son made in those moments, “like he’s pleading. Or worse, sometimes,” Jack shuddered, “I don’t know if it’s worse or if it’s just awful in a whole different way, sometimes he calls my name. I stay with him when he’s like that, stroking his hair and talking to him. I think it helps, I know he doesn’t know I’m there but I like to think there’s part of him that can tell I’m with him. I think he responds, it seems to help him settle.” 

Jack fell silent, leaning against the door jamb of his son’s room with his phone pressed against his ear for a long moment until he remembered he was supposed to be talking to his mom’s voicemail and shook himself out of his reverie. 

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there! So, yeah,” Jack coughed to clear his throat, “chicken soup! If you could fill me in on your super special soupy secrets I’d appreciate it. It’s like you’re passing a torch or something, handing the mantle over from one generation to the next. Who knows, in ten years’ time I might be passing the recipe on to Mac for his little ones.” Jack rasped a hand through the stubble on his chin, “That’s too big a thought to wrestle with right now, let’s just get to the end of this bout of flu first.” Jack huffed a sigh, he’d kind of lost control of this voicemail message, he’d only called to ask for a recipe. “I’ll speak to you soon, say hi to everyone for me. Love you.” 

Jack disconnected the call. 

Mac moaned and mumbled. He flopped onto his back and reached up a hand to rub roughly at his face. 

“You awake, bud?” Jack walked into Mac’s room, peering into his son’s face to find his eyes open and blinking owlishly at the ceiling. “How are you doing?” 

Jack had closed the curtains in Mac’s room to keep the sun from shining too brightly into tired, sensitive eyes and the room was musty and stale. He cracked open a window just a little to – as his mom would say – blow the germs away. 

Mac’s unfocused gaze moved over to Jack and he squinted up at his dad. His skin was pale and clammy with fever and his eyes were shadowed with grey. He looked confused and groggy. 

“Dreaming,” Mac rasped, his voice weak and broken, “you didn’t know me,” he frowned, worried creases forming on his brown, “wouldn’t let me in.” 

“Ah, see then we know that was just a crazy fever dream,” Jack said as he crouched down beside Mac to be closer to him, “because first of all I gave you a key so you can get in when you want and secondly, and more importantly, you’re my son, I’ll always know you and I’ll always want you with me.” He stretched out to gently rub a thumb over Mac’s forehead and ease the lines gathering between his eyes. Mac’s eyes fluttered and the tension in his face relaxed. “I’m heading to the stable soon,” Jack told him, “When I get back we’ll check your temperature again and have another conversation about going to see the doctor.” 

“’Kay.” Mac muttered vaguely as his eyes slid closed. 

“Rest while I’m gone, I’m trusting you to take care of yourself when I’m not here. I’ll be back soon.” 

Mac sighed and mouthed something that Jack could barely make out but that looked a lot like ‘love you.’ 

“I love you too, kiddo.” 

Jack wasn’t sure how much of that conversation Mac would remember. He wasn’t even sure if Mac had actually been awake through it so he went to Mac’s desk and found a piece of paper among the books and folders and wrote a note:

_At stable. Back soon. Call if you feel worse. Rest._

He left it on Mac’s bedside cabinet and spent a few moments fussing with his son’s blanket to ensure he was covered to his satisfaction. Then he left Mac’s room, closing the door gently, and headed out to his truck. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set between the first and second parts of [New Names and Heartbeats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719454/chapters/49222241)

“Honey, we need to do a couple of checks on your dad,” the nurse said, “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room for a while.” 

Mac looked up at her from his seat next to Jack. Jack hadn’t regained consciousness since being thrown from Hal, he was lying still and pale on the bed beside Mac. The cut and bruises on his head stood out starkly against his sallow skin and the hands that were usually so busy gesturing along with a story, caring for the horses or running their strong fingers through his hair were lax and unresponsive on the sheets. Mac looked back to his dad. He didn’t want to leave him. He felt sure, as irrational as it was, that if he was apart from Jack, if he couldn’t see and touch him, something terrible would happen. Their separation would be made permanent somehow. Mac couldn’t let that happen. 

“It will only be for a few minutes I promise. I’ll let you know as soon as you can come back in.” The nurse said, her face soft with sympathy. “There’s a waiting area just past the nurses station, you can make some phone calls from there if you want.” 

“Okay.” Mac managed to say, nodding. He didn’t really have a choice. He needed to let the nurses care for Jack, his needs were more important than Mac’s fear. Mac knew that but letting go of his dad's hand still hurt. He rose from his chair and left the room with his eyes focused resolutely forwards. He would be strong. He would not act like a pathetic baby. He would not cry and cling and shake because _please don’t take him away from me. Please please please please please..._

“...no one to go to,” Mac heard a voice say as he walked past the desk where two nurses were sitting, “his dad is his only family. We’ll have to call social services to arrange for emergency foster care if he can’t find anyone to stay with. He seems like such a sweet kid. He really loves his dad.” 

Normally when Mac walked his muscles and limbs moved him forwards without direction. Placing one foot in front of the other usually felt like the simplest thing in the world. It didn’t require thought, attention or for Mac to consciously tell his body to take a step and then another. Right then though, moving through the corridor to the seats facing a huge window felt like a test of strength and character. Like his body wasn’t functioning and he’d lost the connection between his will and his physical presence. 

Emergency foster care. 

The nurses had mentioned emergency foster care

That meant being taken away. To a place where he didn’t know anyone and no one knew him. Away from Jack. 

They might have to send him away from Jack. 

Jack had promised that he would never send Mac away but what if something happened that meant that choice was taken out of his hands? If Jack was, if Jack...

_Please don’t take him away from me. Please please please please please..._

Mac dropped into the nearest seat. The window it faced overlooked a garden that had been planted in a quadrangle within the hospital grounds. Trees reached up to the sun in the space between the building’s brown walls with benches and a tiny play area set up beside raised flower beds to offer comfort and distractions to anxious families and mobile patients. Branches swayed, leaves fluttered and Mac felt utterly disassociated from his surroundings. Lost. Alone. And more afraid than he could ever remember being. 

He’d been scared every day when he’d lived with James, _before_. There had been a constant thrum of fear as a backbeat to his life concerned with if James would be home, if he would ignore Mac, if he would be in a dark mood, what thing Mac might do or say or fail to do or say that would result in his father lashing out in anger. A fear of someone. 

The fear he felt right then was different. It was fear _for_ someone. For Jack. That he’d been badly hurt. That he would be in pain. That his injuries would lead to him suffering. And Mac was afraid for himself too. He was scared that Jack wouldn’t wake up and then he would be left alone, sent away, and lose everything. 

The dread was overwhelming and Mac felt like he was being washed away and drowned in it. He needed something to hold onto, a connection to sunlight and solid ground. Jack was who he usually turned to when he was reaching out for safety but his absence was what was sweeping Mac into the depths. Mac fumbled for his phone with the hand that wasn’t clenched into a fist that pressed against his chest and searched for the number Jack had insisted he put in his address book. 

“For emergencies,” he’d said, “for unseen and unforsaken circumstances. Or if you ever just feel like saying hello. She likes funny cat pictures, sending her one of them every now and then will keep you in her good books.” 

The number was saved as Nana Bea. Mac had never called it but he looked at the name in his contacts sometimes in awe. He had a nana! 

He pressed the name with his thumb. Speaking to Jack’s mom would be a little like touching his connection with Jack. He hoped it would help earth him. After eight rings a pre-recorded voice answered. 

“I’m sorry. The person you have called is not available at this time. Please leave a message after the tone.” 

The beep was shrill and too loud in his ear and after it sounded Mac found himself unable to form words. All he could do was sit in the bland green chair trying not to crumble into pieces as the person who was his home was being tended to in a hospital bed. He gasped harshly into the phone held in his shaking hand, his breaths fogging up the glass of the device in a cycle that misted and faded, misted and faded with his ragged inhales and exhales. He wanted to say that he was scared and ask for comfort but he couldn’t make himself speak. When she got his message Jack’s mom would either think that it was a prank or worry that something terrible had happened. Mac wanted to say something to explain the call but couldn’t. Jack was hurt. Mac had seen it happen. Jack’s eyes were closed and his body was bruised and he wouldn’t wake up and Mac didn’t have anyone else and the nurses had talked about emergency foster care... 

_Please don’t take him away from me. Please please please please please..._

He couldn’t act. He couldn’t think. His breathing was wrong and he was so scared. 

He lowered the phone and pushed the call end button. 

Mac looked down at his cell and scrolled through his contacts to draw his mind away from the memory of Hal bucking and Jack falling backwards. Jack’s number moved past his eye and Mac felt a stab of pain, wishing his dad was beside him. If he were he would be lounging casually in the chair beside Mac, his arms resting in a way that put his hand in reach of Mac’s twitching fingers or leaning towards him with his elbows rested on his knees watching Mac carefully. ‘Easy, buddy,” Mac imagined Jack saying, ‘remember to think about where you are and what’s around you, just take things one step at a time’. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on the hard plastic of the phone in his hands and the press of the chair underneath him. Mac could hear the background white noise of people moving through the ward. He knew that people talked about the scent of hospitals but he couldn’t smell disinfectant or anti-bacterial gel. If he concentrated, he realised with a pang of grief, he could just make out the odour of straw and horses on his shirt. 

Mac looked back down at his phone, he was at the start of his contacts with his thumb hovering over Bozer’s name. 

Bozer was a good friend and his mom was a kind person. If Mac explained what had happened they would probably let him stay with them. He would have somewhere to go overnight until Jack came home. He wouldn’t be taken away. 

The pressure in Mac’s chest eased a fraction. 

Riley was a good friend too, her mom was dating Jack and they shared the same friends. Jack would want the horses at the stable to be cared for and Diane could arrange for someone to go over to feed Pepper and the others. Mac just needed to call them. He would speak to Bozer first then call Riley and ask to speak to her mom. He would do this one step at a time, just like Jack would’ve said. 

Mac scrubbed the back of a wrist over his eyes and resolved to make the calls after he had counted to three. 

He took a slow, deep breath. 

1\. 2. 3. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set after [New Names and Heartbeats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719454/chapters/49222241) and the third chapter of Violetvaria's [5 Times Jack and Mac Couldn't Sleep (+1 Time They Couldn't Stay Awake)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530002/chapters/51323002).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on these stories. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it ❤

Mrs Bellamy gave Pepper a final pat on the neck. “Goodbye, pretty girl,” she told the horse, “I'll see you next week.” Pepper gently nudged the old lady with her head. Mrs B had been taking riding lessons with Jack twice a week for two years. She’d started coming for them after her husband had died and she’d decided that after having spent months nursing him it was time to do something for herself. Jack had watched her transform from someone worn by loss into a bright and lively person as she worked through her grief and started engaging with the world again. When Jack had been choosing a horse for her to learn on he’d initially dismissed Pepper, thinking she was too ornery, but the grieving widow and the spoiled horse got on so well when he was introducing her to his animals that they’d ridden together for every lesson. Rediscovering her zest for life had revealed a flamboyant streak in Mrs B’s personality - the yellow shirt she wore that day framed a chunky statement necklace of silver and green and made her look as sunny as a summer day - and Jack wondered if Pepper had recognised familiar theatrical inclinations in the little old lady who’d scratched her behind the ear and fed her mints. 

“Goodbye Jack dear, you take care of yourself,” Mrs Bellamy said firmly, pulling her designer jacket on. “You’re not trying to do too much too soon are you?” 

“No,” Jack held up his hands, “I’m being careful,” he said, mindful of the fading bruises and aches that had just started niggling at him, “I’m going to take a break in a minute.” 

“Good, the body needs time to heal.” Mrs Bellamy nodded approvingly. “Give my love to that boy of yours.” 

“Will do, Mrs B. Thank you. I’ll see you next week.” 

“Farewell, my dear.” And she was gone with a wave that Queen Elizabeth II would be proud of. 

Jack listened to Mrs B’s car rumble away. She reminded him a little of his mother. They were both loving, straight talking and had cores of steel that had held fast through the loss of their husbands. He headed to his office with Herschel as his furry shadow. The kitten had made himself at home in the stable and could either be found stalking the stores, head down, eyes focused like a jungle tiger on the hunt, stretched out in a stall with one of the horses, Pepper and Hal were his favourites, or hanging around the human occupants of the stable seeking pets. He had quickly - and accurately - identified Jack as a soft touch and would frequently go to him expecting scritches. 

Jack gently lowered himself to stretch out on the sofa in the office. He was healing nicely, aches that had been bone deep and exhausting were fading to intermittent twinges that reminded him of his brush with gravity and the hard floor of the stable. He tried - but often failed - to keep his complaints to himself when he was at home and to take his pain meds when Mac wasn’t looking. His son still carried worries and fears from the accident. They had talked and their early morning conversations had helped ease Mac’s concerns but Jack didn’t think he needed reminders of what had happened. 

Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket. A nightmare and coffee fuelled conversation between father and son had led to a call to Jack’s lawyer, the results of which necessitated a call to his mom. The phone buzzed in his hand and Jack’s mother answered. 

“Jacky! Sweetheart, how are you? Are you okay? Have you eaten? Are you resting? Do you need anything?” 

“I’m okay, Ma,” Jack tried to give his mother answers in the order they’d been demanded. “I’m going to eat soon, I’m resting right now and I do need something actually, that’s why I’m calling. As well as to say hi, of course.” 

Herschel crouched on the floor next to Jack looking up at him and wiggling his rear end as he prepared to jump up onto the couch. Amused, Jack watched the furry little shimmy for a moment before scooping the kitten up and putting him onto his lap. As light as Herschel was he had a tendency to land on delicate parts of a person’s anatomy with enough pressure to cause a surprising amount of pain. The cat butted his head against Jack’s fingers, was kind enough to show Jack the part of him he’d been shaking, to Jack’s dismay, then settled himself down into a purring, fluffy ball on Jack’s stomach. 

“What do you need?” Jack’s mom asked. “Are you sure you’re all right” 

“I am. I’m bruised and a little shaken but I’m okay.” 

“How’s Mac?” 

“He’s shaken but fine too. That’s kind of why I’m calling, I need to ask you something,” Jack faltered, “I don’t want you to be alarmed or anything but I need to talk to you about my will.” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Herschel stretched a leg, splaying out a furry paw. 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay, honey?” Jack’s mom’s voice was soft. 

“I am. Its for Mac. I want to make sure he’s taken care of if something happens to me before he’s an adult.” 

“What do you need from me?” 

“I’ve spoken to my lawyer and he’s drawn up paperwork that will emancipate Mac if anything happens to me while he’s still a minor. I need someone to co-sign the paperwork and act as the executor of the will if it ever needs to be, you know, put into place.” 

Jack heard his mom huff and then her voice took on the sharp, focused quality it used to have during his childhood when she’d had suspicions about the truthfulness of what he was telling her. “You are definitely only a little shaken aren’t you, sweetheart? You are calling me to discuss your will.” 

“I’m sure. 

“You are being honest with me?” Something in his mom’s voice had Jack wanting to snap to attention even though he was sprawled out on a couch. 

“Yes, ma’am” 

“And you’re not keeping anything from me?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“Because if I find out that you're hiding things from me, so help me Jack Wyatt Dalton, I know you’re an adult now but I will fly up there are rain holy hell down on you like a revenging angel!” 

“It’s an avenging angel Ma, and I’m fine.” 

“Avenging, revenging, pretending, whatever-ing! I don’t like being lied to and I don’t like not knowing when the people I love are hurt. I’m supposed to look after you. You and Mac. I’m your mom, it’s my job!” 

“Mom, I know!” Jack tried hard to sound calm and reasonable and not like a teenager who’d just been told he needed to go and do his chores. “I really am okay. Me changing my will hasn't got anything to do with my health, I'm fine, I’m doing it for Mac, he was,” Jack paused. He ran his hand down Herschel’s back, his fingers leaving curving furrows in grey and black fur. It was a little like stroking his fingers through Mac’s hair, soft, warm and soothing, “The nurses in the hospital said something about him maybe having to go into foster care when I was there and it scared him. He’s been worrying about what will happen to him if I couldn’t take care of him so I need to make sure he’s all right.” 

“I’ll sign anything you need me to,” Jack’s mom said, “but Mac does know that if he ever needed to he could spend time here with me doesn’t he?” 

“He does, but this is the first place he’s ever felt safe. This is his home.” The couch Jack was sprawled on, the horses dozing the afternoon away, the house with the lab in the basement and the huge rocking chair. Jack pictured Mac laughing and sleeping and living in those spaces and felt sure they were what he needed. 

“I don’t think it’s the place that’s his home, kiddo. I think the house and the stable matter to him because that’s where you are.” 

Jack was a grown man. He’d been a solider. A business owner. A teacher. And now a father. He was generally competent, usually responsible and was considered an adult by most of his acquaintances (Diane was the exception but she’d been part of the food fight too so couldn’t claim a greater level of maturity). Despite all that his mom could still leave him verklempt. Jack had once told Mac about his mom’s talent for seeing into the heart of things, understanding them with unerring accuracy and knowing just what insightful comment was needed and Mac had raised an eyebrow and said that that must be where Jack got it from. Jack mumbled vague noises into the phone and his mom, understanding, continued. 

“Mac called me from the hospital after your accident, you know. I didn’t find the voicemail he’d left until after you’d let me know what had happened. He didn’t say anything in the message, I could just hear him breathing, but that doesn’t matter. I’m just glad that he felt that he could come to me when he needed someone. You’ll let him know that will never change won’t you?” 

“I will.” Jack’s voice was gruff. 

“Good.” Jack knew his mom was nodding with a sharp gesture of conviction. “I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of flying up there to be with you both as soon as you told me about the accident. It sounds like you’ve both needed a little looking after. I could have made soup.” 

“We’ve been okay, really. We both needed time and space to deal with what happened and to be honest with each other about how we felt.” 

“If you say so.” Jack’s mom sniffed, unconvinced but trying not to show it too much. “Have you tried arnica on your bruises, darling?” she asked, determined to find a way to fuss over her son. 

“No I haven’t.” 

“Judy in my Zumba class swears by it. I can send you some if you don’t have any, it’s been a while since I’ve done you a care package. Does Mac have a nut allergy – kids have nut allergies these days don’t they? I’ve found a lovely recipe for brownies with pistachio nuts. He likes my brownies doesn’t he?” 

“Everyone likes your brownies, Ma.” Everyone did. They’d always been a big hit at bake sales and when a box arrived from Jack’s mom they were carefully rationed by both members of the Dalton household to ensure they were savoured and distributed evenly. 

“I’ll get baking tonight after my knitting group.” 

“How many groups do you go to?” Jack knew about the book club and the choir and now apparently his mom also went to a Zumba class and a knitting group. 

“I like to keep myself busy,” she told him. “But I’m going to find time soon to visit you both. It’s been too long since I’ve given you a hug and there are stories about you that I haven’t told Mac yet. I could bring along some photos! I’m sure he would love to see pictures of his daddy as Frosty the Snowman in his school play.” 

“Now, let’s not be too hasty with that,” Jack said, remembering the bowl hair cut he’d sported that year and cringing at the thought of all the hairstyle related jokes Mac would make in retaliation to all the mop top, fluffy headed quips he’d made about Mac’s wayward locks. 

“We'll see.” The ultimate parental prevarication. Jack saw much haircut related mockery in his future. That was okay. He loved to see Mac laugh. “Do you have lessons coming up? Am I keeping you from anything?” Jack’s mum asked. 

Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not for another two hours. I should be ordering saddle soap but,” he looked at the tabby patterned ball of fur sleeping comfortably on his stomach, “it can wait. Me and Herschel have just gotten ourselves cosy.” 

“Ah, Herschel, you mean the cat you go to keep mice out of your stores? The cat who you said was, what were your words, ‘going to be a working animal and not end up all pampered and petted’?” 

“I have no memory of saying those things.” Jack hadn’t said that, he’d said that Herschel wasn’t going to be a lap cat, which was totally different. And Herschel wasn’t a lap cat, he was a cat that just happened to be on Jack’s lap right then. “Besides, what about you and that old puss you got that was supposed to live in the barn?” 

“Bonnie? She was the best mouser I ever had.” 

“She slept on your bed.” 

“She was a good girl and deserved a soft place to rest. And maybe she was the reason there were never any mice in the bedroom.” 

They both laughed. 

”I miss us all living in the same house,” the wistful note in his mom’s voice tugged at Jack’s heart. “I know you and your sister are grown and living busy, wonderful lives and I couldn’t be prouder but sometimes I wish I could get up in the morning and have us all there around the breakfast table together. Just talking and living and loving each other under the same roof. It’s silly.” 

“It isn’t silly, Momma.” Jack thought of him and Mac that morning sitting around in their rumpled pyjamas yawning and mumbling at each other over coffee and bowls of cereal. “Those moments, the little everyday ones, those moments are as important as the big ones like wedding days and graduations.” 

“The big fancy days are special events, and they’re wonderful,” Jack’s mom said, “but the little moments are what a life is made of. Make sure you treasure those times with your boy as much as the ones where you have to wear a suit and tie.” 

“I will.” Jack promised. 

“I know you will, I raised a smart boy.” Both Jack and his mom were silent while they remembered past times and absent friends. “I’ll let you rest,” Jack’s mom finally said. “You should be recuperating. That accident of yours could have been much worse. You were lucky. You need to be taking good care of yourself.” 

“I know, Momma.” 

“You’ll never be too old for me to worry about.” 

“I know that as well.” 

“I should think so.” 

“Mac calls it helicopter parenting when I do stuff like that.” 

“That’s fair I suppose. I call it love.” 

“Me too.” 

Jack felt heavy and loose limbed as he relaxed into the old sofa cushions. The stable was quiet apart from the soft rustle of the horses and the office had been warmed by the afternoon sun. His aches had faded a little since he’d started to rest and Jack felt content in spite of the tiredness doggedly reminding him that he wasn’t a hundred percent recovered from his fall. 

“You send me whatever papers you need signing and I’ll fill them in, ” Jack’s mom said, returning to the original point of their conversation. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ll let you go, honey, you sound tired.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Give my grandson a big hug from me.” 

“I will.” 

“Goodbye, baby. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Bye, momma.” 

Jack ended the call and dropped his phone beside him. His eyes slid shut. He decided to follow Herschel’s example and have a cat nap. Forty winks should be enough to refresh him for Cassie’s lesson later that afternoon. She’d made him a get well soon card when she found out he’d been hurt and he wanted to be able to show her his appreciation and that he was feeling much better. His breathing slowed. The last thought Jack had before he drifted off was that cats had the right idea. Regularly finding somewhere warm to curl up and snooze was a wonderful lifestyle choice. It was something he’d seriously have to think about including in his daily routine. 

The horses whickered softly. The coffee machine ticked. Jack and Herschel slept. 


End file.
